


a summer's day at the start of winter

by Isis



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Sword at Sunset - Rosemary Sutcliff
Genre: Missing Scene, Multi, OT3, Sex Pollen, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 23:10:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5068456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unusual easterly breeze brings the scent of flowers to Guenhumara's courtyard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a summer's day at the start of winter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/gifts).



> Arthurian sex pollen, hooray! You prompted, and I could not resist.
> 
> Thanks to Riventhorn for beta-reading.

The breeze came, unusually, from the east, and it was warmer than it ought to be at this time of year. With it came the sweet scent of some flower that had not yet faded and dropped from its stem in the face of the oncoming winter. It was not a scent Guenhumara recognized. Perhaps it was a southern flower, one that did not grow north of the old Roman wall. And perhaps it was not an unusual thing, here in Venta Belgarum, for the wind to blow easterly. She was not yet accustomed to the South.

She stopped at the window to take in a great breath of it. It made her think of springtime, and of being a girl again, dancing in the torchlit circle while wild music filled the air. It made her think of the way her heart had beat faster when Artos had asked her to be his wife. 

The thought of Artos sent a sweet shiver down her spine. Perhaps this marvelously scented air would move him the same way; perhaps it would lift his terrible burden, and they could be truly man and wife again, if only for a time.

She bent to pick up Hylin. Old Blanid would watch over her daughter for an hour or two. Artos was likely out with the horses, and if not, she would ask until she had found him. 

But as she left her chambers she heard his voice, and then that of Bedwyr, as they came round the corner toward her. They left off their talking to greet her, and to pet the babe, who laughed and grabbed at their fingers and at Bedwyr's shaggy dark hair.

"I would see you for a bit, when you are finished with your business," she told Artos. 

"We'll sit in the Queen's Courtyard while you are on your own business, as we will be some minutes yet," said Artos, smiling down at the child. "If we have your permission?"

She felt a quick flare of anger – Artos and Bedwyr had spent the entire summer and autumn together, fighting the Sea Wolves; must she share him during the short season he spent at home with her? But no, she reminded herself, she was being unfair. They had only just returned days ago, and doubtless there were yet issues to be resolved.

It was unseasonably warm for early winter, yes, but not so warm that the two of them would want to sit long out in the open air of the courtyard, so they would not be long in their conference. And perhaps the sweet floral scent would be stronger there, and might begin to work its influence upon him. So she held back the sharp retort that had come to her lips, and nodded her permission, and carried her daughter to Blanid.

When she judged that enough time had passed for Artos and Bedwyr to conclude their discussion, Guenhumara came back to her rooms. She paused a moment before crossing into the courtyard, listening. Had Bedwyr gone? She was suddenly uncertain; the sweet scent now seemed a memory to her, something distant, and she felt foolish for the hope it had brought her that it might stir Artos' blood.

Then she went out into the Queen's Courtyard, and it was clear she had not been foolish at all. Artos' arms were around Bedwyr, and Bedwyr's long fingers ranged up and down Artos' body, and they kissed each other again and again as though their mouths could not bear to separate for the smallest instant. 

She had become a statue, unable to move, unable to look away. A tiny, desperate, "Oh!" escaped her mouth.

Both men looked up at her. Neither face had the guilty expression that she would have expected: Bedwyr's craggy face looked like that of a mischievous, delighted boy, while Artos smiled joyfully and reached a hand out to her. 

Guenhumara stared for a moment longer. A breeze caressed her face. Of a sudden she remembered how Artos had swept her up and flung her across the saddlebow of his horse and taken her to the old Dun for their wedding night; she remembered the way they had come together in Trimontium, half-starved and shivering and waiting for death, and created the life that was their daughter. It seemed to her that she heard Bedwyr's harp singing sweetly in her ear, and her skin vibrated in tune with every note.

"Only let me pluck at your strings, Guenhumara," Bedwyr murmured, as if he could hear her thoughts.

Before she knew it, she had crossed to where they sat on the low bench in the center of the courtyard. Bedwyr pulled her to sit on his lap, and Artos kissed her mouth with the same fervor he had spent on Bedwyr. She could not imagine she had thought it too chill to sit out in the open air. Why, it was as warm as midsummer, far too warm for her heavy woolen gown.

Two pairs of hands helped her undo the golden clasp at her shoulder, and then she turned her own hands to undressing the others. Their clothes, piled together, made a soft bed. Artos was as she would wish him always, untroubled and fully capable of loving; Bedwyr stroked her to pleasure with surprising gentleness, and then clasped Artos with such ardor – ardor fully returned – that her desire rose again as she watched them together. She gathered Bedwyr in her arms and kissed the back of his neck as he spent himself against Artos' thigh with a soft gasp. 

The afternoon passed as if in a dream. Everything seemed wonderful and new: the roughness of wool and unshaven chins, the softness of lips and the unexpected delight of being touched and kissed and stroked. Bedwyr nuzzled against her breast as Artos pressed into her again and whispered loving words into her ear, until finally the three of them lay entwined together, heavy-limbed and sated. 

And all around them was the sweet scent of flowers out of season, a summer's day at the start of winter.


End file.
